


Harry Potter the Lost Child

by DreamTillDawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Death Eater Harry Potter, Death Eaters, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, Redemption, Slow Burn, anyone who has read my hunger games AU should have an idea how this is gonna go, eventual hermione granger/harry potter, kind of, the whole hogwarts gang eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-05-13 22:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19260325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamTillDawn/pseuds/DreamTillDawn
Summary: In a world where the Potters die and Harry becomes The Boy Who Lived, he grows up to become the savior of the wizarding world. But in this world, where one choice, one moment of courage, changes everything - who saves the world when the Potters live but believe Harry is lost to them? The whole world believes Harry Potter died in his crib when Voldemort was miraculously defeated by a child. Instead, he is lost to his family, a hero raised to be a villain. Still, the carelessness of his captors allows Harry to fall into the hands of people who care for him, love him, show him a way back to the path he was always destined for. He is the Chosen One, who will rise to defeat the Dark Lord no matter who he is or what the cost.





	1. It's Quiet Uptown

Godric's Hollow was quiet, too quiet for a town whose occupants was only partially made up of residents hiding behind closed curtains and warded doors. If you looked at the right angle, with a magical eye, there was a faint shimmer to some homes. Nearly undetectable, and you'd forget about it the moment you looked away. No houses with dwellers of magical blood were foolish enough to try and survive a war without wards over their homes. They layered them several thick and renewed them as often as they dared risk casting in the open.

Each day the magical residents were fearful they'd look outside to see a green skull and snake lighting the sky. They'd find themselves with one less neighbor and extra sets of eyes watching them to see who would be the next target. See who could be turned. See who could be made to talk.

Hallows night was ending, not a very busy night for the West England town, and this late into the evening only a single sole walked the streets still. He walked with nervous steps, constantly looking over his shoulder, nearly tripping as he shuffled along quickly. The ground was mercifully lacking in ice but it spared him no extra trouble.

The closer he got to his destination the faster he moved, picking up the pace to a light jog of which he was just a tad too clumsy to manage well. Or perhaps whatever nerves plagued him simply kept him from coordinating his limbs at all for the time being. He kept going until he reached a wooden gate, latched along a stone fence in front of a pleasant looking stone cottage. It was homey easy to miss as your eyes passed over it, but hard to look away from once you spotted it. Two floors shone with light from indoors, a bit of smoke rising from the chimney in the cool October air.

The stumbling man paused fidgeting his hands together with an almost manic anxiety. At last, he opened the gate, hurrying up the path to the front door where he knocked quickly before he could stop himself. There was a moment of silence within the house, the residents going still. Then, the door opened quickly, a tall dark haired young man waving the nervous one in at once.

"Peter! Is everything alright? You look pale. What's happened?" James Potter adjusted the set of round framed glasses on his face, glancing nervously to his wife who hurried into the living room to scoop their son off the floor. He'd been playing with the boy, entertaining him with tricks from his wand. It was with a sink of dread he realized he'd left it sitting on the coffee table, calling it to his hand at once.

He couldn't be so careless. If he was caught without it in danger he'd be dead.

"Oh! It's..." Peter's teeth chattered away with nerves, clicking against each other as he brought up a hand to chew at his nails. "It's Sirius."

James' face went pale, hazel eyes wide with fear. "Is he... He can't be."

"No!" Peter exclaimed, and began speaking so quickly he tripped over his words as well as his feet, pacing the bit of room he could. "He's not dead. He must see you at once. At once he said. There's been news, something awful has happened. Didn't trust sending a message by magic or owl. Had to be in person he said."

  
"Calm down, Peter," Lily urged, ushering them to come further into the house and sit down, but Peter stayed where he was. "Tell us what's happened."

  
"I don't know," Peter shook his head fast enough to make his head and neck ache. "He didn't say – I don't think there was time, but Sirius has to meet with you at once. At once, he said."

  
James and Lily looked to one another forlorn. The young red headed woman looked down at their son, happily taking them all in, completely unaware of the dangers circling around him like vultures.

"I think..." Peter began, desperate to convince them. "There's word... of the Longbottom boy."

"Little Neville?" Lily gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. A part of her was instantly shamed at the relief that rushed through her veins. If the prophecy was about Neville... then her son would be safe.

"I don't know," Peter insisted. "At once!"

"We can't just leave Harry, and we can't take him with us." James told him. "I'll go, on my own."

"No," Peter shouted so loudly that it startled Harry, making him whimper as Lily rocked him gently. "No... I will watch the boy. It shouldn't take you long. Sirius seemed so urgent... If something were to happen to him..." Peter wrung his hands together. "I can't do much of fighting, James."

James expression softened a bit despite the stress making him suddenly look much older than a mere twenty-one years. "I know, Peter." He pat a hand on Peter's shoulder, squeezing lightly to try and calm his friend's shaking. "Lily?"

A doubtful look was cast upon Peter regarding his abilities in child care, but Harry was such a peaceful baby. If they were only to be gone a short while, there was hardly much that could happen. "I'll put Harry in the nursery. He should be fine until we return, but you must be here Peter. You can watch over him properly can't you?"  
Peter had never had much experience with babies, but he nodded enthusiastically regardless. "Yes, of course, I promise."

Lily hurried out of the room, James quick on her heels to stop her and whisper a quick goodbye to Harry, a kiss pressed to the top of the boy's head. Lily smiled, tension straightening her shoulders at the sweet but sad act. Her footsteps receded upstairs and quickly returned as James questioned Peter on where to meet Sirius.

The nerves only got worse in Peter the longer they stayed until at last the Potter's were out the door. They locked hands, heads bent together with murmured words. Their lips met in a short kiss before they passed through the gate, Apparating away in the blink of an eye. Peter shut the door, a hand resting on its surface for a moment as he took a deep breath.

That was as much as he needed to do. He could leave, slip away out the door. The Dark Lord would enter the house and find the child alone. He'd done his duty to his friends, and still saved himself. Who could blame him?

Everyone. Everyone would blame him. The fear wouldn't leave him, Peter shaking once more, trembling like the coward he knew he was. A cry started from upstairs, less a panicked sound and more a wondering call. Harry hoped someone might answer, as if he knew his mother and father had gone.

Left him all alone when death was at his door.

Peter paced the room, listening to Harry cry out once more. A third cry brought him halfway up the stairs, the pictures on the wall at eye level, above and below him all taunting with their images of the people he was betraying. The fifth cry brought him outside the door, fingers nearly clawing bloody trails down each other as he scratched them together. Where was the courage of a Gryffindor? Why had he ever been placed in the house of bravery when he could not find where he'd left his spine? Had he ever even had one?

Lonely and unanswered, Harry started to truly cry on the other side of the door, drawing Peter inside to try and shush the boy.

"Quiet, enough," Peter told him, trying not to yell.

The child quieted quickly, a surprising act for a one year old. Harry blinked up mournfully at Peter with Lilly's green eyes, wondering why his parent's hadn't come to pick him up when he cried.

"He'll kill me you know." Peter whispered, looking around quickly as if expecting the Dark Lord to appear at any moment. Panic began to set into Peter. "He's going to kill me for this. What have I done? What have I done?"

Peter began to pace the room in true panic.

"I should run, but he'll find me. Or James and Sirius and Remus – the Order will find me!" Peter realized with a sinking, sickening dread that he was doomed no matter his choice now. He'd made a fatal mistake in revealing the secret of the Potter's house to Voldemort, and by having a single moment of true loyalty he'd sealed himself to join the fatal fate he'd woven. Peter suddenly wished very much he could go back to the day of his sorting and beg to be placed in any house other than Gryffindor.

Downstairs, the back door of the house banged open with a crash, Voldemort entering from behind to try and catch the Potter's by surprise. Peter shrieked in fear before he could stop himself, causing Harry to cry out – both sounds giving away their location.

He could grab the child and run, Peter thought. Or leave the child and run. He could transform into a rat at once and hide beneath something until the Dark Lord had gone. Then he need only hide from the Order until they were all dead.

"Pettigrew," the voice hissed up towards him and Peter froze before he could make a move to hide or run. Voldemort already knew he was there then. "Where are the Potters?"

As the Dark Lord ascended the stairs, he pressed the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark on his arm, calling for the nearest of his Death Eaters to join him at once in case he'd been truly betrayed. Two columns of black smoke circled the sky above Godric's Hollow, searching for the source of their master's call. The Fidelius Charm however was still in place, hiding the location from their search as they materialized along the street.

Alecto and Amycus Carrow looked at each of the houses, searching for a sign of magic, waiting for another call. Inside the Potter house, the nursery door opened with a bang, making Peter's trembling form jump high into the air. Voldemort's hooded figure seemed to float rather than walk into the room as he took in the sight of his most pathetic follower and the child prophesized to be his end.

"Master! My Lord, you've arrived! The child – the child is..." Peter swallowed his words as Voldemort's eyes settled to bore into him with a dangerous gleam.

"You..." The word stretched, Peter feeling as if he was staring into the eyes of a snake coiled and rearing back as it prepared to strike. "You warned them. You betrayed me. You would die for them."

"No! Yes – no, master!" Peter fell to his knees, hands clasped together as he begged. "It's – they are – I merely came to tell you. T-They're discovered the truth, the prophecy – they believe it's the other boy. They've gone to see him! To help protect  _him_  – I – I came to warn you of this defiance, my master! Th-they trusted the child to me because they th-thought you'd go for the other boy."

Peter's hysteria did him a favor only in making it hard to determine if his words were lies or truth told in fear that made the two indistinguishable. Still, the seed of doubt planted by the poorly executed, but still cunning words of a might have been Slytherin, was set to influence the course of history for years yet to come.

At that moment, Peter would have said or done anything to save his own life. More than that, in the face of so much fear, he remembered why he had loved his friends so dearly. They'd never made him fearful. With the Marauders Peter had been brave and strong and smart and invincible, without them he was a coward. A sniveling servant to the dark lord who would never make him brave or show him friendship or love, the dark wizard wasn't capable of inspiring such things.

"Are you sure?" Voldemort hissed.

"Yes!" Peter cried, falling even farther to squash his face down into the floor at the Dark Lord's feet. "I'm sure! The prophesied child is the Longbottom boy!"

Voldemort was silent, the seconds ticking by as Peter resisted the urge to peer up at the wizard towering above him. "You are lying. To save the son of your once best friend. A noble act, but one that means you now must die."

Voldemort's wand raised and Peter shook his head, too afraid to look. The Dark Lord waited.

"Tell me the truth, and you shall be spared."

Peter's mind raced, running through the possibilities. All of them ended in death. There was no path, no string of truths or lies that would end in the Dark Lord sparing his life. So, Peter felt sick to his stomach, what did he want to die for? It occurred to him for a moment that perhaps whatever the Sorting Hat had seen in him was the decision to be made that night, whether to try cunning his way out with his cowardice, or die loyal and with what little courage he could muster for the love of the friends who had never done him wrong, never betrayed him as he had them.

"The Potter boy is not the Chosen One."

"Fine." A flash of green light filled the room and Peter collapsed, dying without pain. The only comfort he had was the last moment of courage and love he had summoned with all his might.

The flash brightened the windows of the upstairs a bright green, noticed by the Carrow's hovering outside on the street. They started in the direction of the house, hurrying inside with little pause for fear of combatants. Now they'd seen the house it was impossible to miss, and they dared not look away for worry of forgetting it. They found the Dark Lord on the second floor, looming over the crib of a child, his wand pointed ready to make the killing blow.

"It seems Pettigrew had received information that the Chosen One is the son of the Longbottom family. The Potters have gone to protect him. I shall have to destroy the boy next, and all who stand guard over him. Never the less, while I am already here..." Voldemort stared at the child, considering it. When had he ever passed up on such a delectable opportunity to strike true fear into his enemies such as to murder their child in its crib? "The Potters must be punished for their defiance."

The Carrows grinned, both eyeing the child waiting to see its life fade in a green flash.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shone, shooting from Voldemort's wand towards the boy. The Carrows were both blown back by the explosion that erupted when the spell hit and backfired. They hit the wall of the hallway and fell to the floor, the whole house rocking with the force of the explosion. Pictures fell from the wall, glass shattering over the stairs. The flickering sound of flames met their ears as the green fire scorched its way through a large chunk of the second floor.

Alecto was on her feet first. She lit her wand to see as she stood with a groan. The blast had left burns on her skin, cuts leaving tricking blood trails down her face.

The crib and the child inside still lay against one wall, but everything around it had been blown back and out. What remained of a single body was lying on the floor, affected by the blast as it had splattered blood and sizzling flesh across the room to all sides. There was no sign of the Dark Lord except his wand and tattered remains of his robes still smoking from the singe the blast had left.

Amycus raced to his feet behind her, taking in the jagged, burnt crib bars and the child still unharmed despite the carnage of the room. "How – How has this happened?"

Alecto had no answer, the possibilities of spells, charms or the like too unknown to her. "A shield charm?"

"There are none that could prevent the killing curse," Amycus hissed. "Are there?"

The child was crying, drawing Amycus nearer to it like a shark drawn to blood in the water. He pointed his wand, stopped only by Alecto grabbing him.

"We should kill it," Amycus yelled, straining to pull his arm from the grip of Alecto's stubby fingers.

Neither Carrow was very bright. In fact, they were overall a very dim witted pair. They were both drawn to violence and power over knowledge and wisdom, but Alecto was at the least a single, very small candle brighter than her brother. She stared at the child a moment, knowing time was likely short.

In a rush, she grabbed the boy from the crib, taking nothing but the child as she struggled to figure out how to hold it. "Blood, spill some into the box thing that holds it."

"What?"

"Do it!" Alecto yelled, disgusted by the blubbering of the child squirming in her hands. She held it tightly around the waist with both hands, keeping its arms out of swinging distance from her. Harry whined pitifully, a look of distress on his face that might have melted anyone with a semblance of a soul into showing him some mercy.

Amycus refused to shed his own blood, instead hovering the body of Pettigrew above the crib and tilting it so a rush of blood and clots from the blast wounds poured from where it had begun to settle and cool in the corpse. He tossed the body back down where it had been, looking to his sister for approval with a frustrated expression pinching his face.

"Good. Let's go."

"We're taking it?" Amycus yelled in confusion, unable to speak at any lesser volume so was his panic and fury at the Dark Lord's apparent death. He grabbed the Dark Lord's wand from the floor as he went to follow. Voldemort would be viciously angry when he returned if his wand went into the hands of their enemies.

"Yes!" Alecto stepped outside the house still holding the struggling Harry awkwardly. "We must send word to our fellows in the Ministry; ensure they can prevent the Trace from being placed on it." She cursed the child silently as she reluctantly pulled it closer so she wouldn't risk splitting the thing in half when she Apparated away. Amycus followed quickly in her actions, both disappearing just before three figures appeared in front of the gate.

Lily screamed before either men could react, racing towards the house without care of who might still be inside. She would kill them if they stood in her way. James and Sirius raced behind her, fast enough they could have surpassed her had she not already beat them to the stairs. Glass cracked and splintered beneath her feet, mercifully not piercing through her shoes into her skin. James tried to stop her, not wanting her to see whatever lay in the remains of the nursery, but Lilly would not be stopped.

The door was blasted off, lying in the hallway. Lily flung it aside with a wave of her wand, tears streaming down her face as she rounded the corner into the darkness of the nursery. Her wand lit with a whisper, revealing all her worst fears as the light from James and Sirius' wands joined hers.

She stumbled forward into the room, hands reaching out to grip the top of the crib as her wand dropped to the floor still lit. Lily sunk to her knees, sobbing at the sight of the crib splattered with blood. Voldemort hadn't just killed her baby; he'd completely destroyed the body. She had nothing left to hold, nothing left to clutch to and mourn. Her heart ached with denial and pain. It couldn't be true. Harry must still be alive if she could not see him, hold him, know him as dead with her own eyes. He had to be alive and just... just hurt very badly.

Someone had taken her baby. She knew it.

James couldn't speak, too stunned to even feel. He took a step forward, gripping Lily's shoulder to support himself from falling to his knees beside her. He could feel the tears coming, knew they would be sobs that would tear him apart. As those built in his chest, he could feel a slow sort of shattering inside himself, something irreparable breaking at the hole of loss fixing itself a place in his chest, tearing off a good chunk of his heart to be sucked into the black space remaining as it did.

Sirius choked, hand to his mouth to bite at his wrist preventing the strangled sounds trying to escape. He thought of the photo in his room at home, the image of little Harry zooming past on a toy broom and nearly doubled over. The boy was gone, in the space of the few minutes it had taken for James and Lily to track him down and the danger to be realized, the child had been killed. Just a few minutes.

He moved into the room, edging around the grieving parents, his best friends, unable to look more than a glance at the bloody mess of the crib. What kind of spell could do that? What monster imagined a wave of the wand which left nothing but a cruel splatter of red behind where the rest of the body had been destroyed so completely? He'd never seen such a spell before. It made his stomach turn feeling sick with pure sorrow and utter rage and disgust all at once.

Whoever did this would pay with far more than just their life.

Kneeling beside the body that  _had_ been left, he examined the remains. It was easy enough to identify Peter since their friend was supposed to be in the house, but it was hard to tell how he'd died. Had he been hit with a killing curse and then the blast, or had it been the blast that killed him? Sirius pushed at Peter's shoulder, seeing that his friend's face and front seemed mostly untouched by the blast. Killing curse first then. So he'd died defending Harry – or not.

Why send Lily and James away? He had to have known this was coming so why was he dead?

Sirius squinted, seeing Peter's wand sticking from his pocket. Had he not had time to grab it? But, Sirius realized with a sinking dread, how had anyone known of the house's location without Peter telling them? Why had Peter drawn James and Lily away to him if he'd known someone might come to... to kill Harry...

On the street below, several more figures began to appear. With the light from all three wands shining above, it was easy for the newcomers to know where to go. There were civilians on the street, quickly being turned away with a few wand waves.

Behind Sirius, James finally began to sob, joining Lily on the floor as she turned to clutch at him, burying her face into his chest as he bent around her. They moved together, shaking and heaving with their cries. Sirius moved, shifting to James' side to put a hand at his shoulder. What more could he do? There was no way to heal this wound.

Sirius himself was having a very hard time breathing steadily.

Only when footsteps came up the steps did Sirius rise, shouldering the responsibility to draw the newcomers, Remus included, away to let the parents grieve. He waited, watching as the Order members quickly moved to contain the situation. Muggles handled, messages sent, fellow wizards questioned on whether or not they'd seen anything. Sirius told them what he could infer about what had transpired, starting with the truth of Peter being the secret keeper, the possible demise of the Dark Lord, and the death of both Peter and Harry.

It was nearly too much for him to handle, the loss of his godson, the pain at seeing James and Lily in such agony, threatening to collapse him at any sign of weakness. But Sirius was stronger than most, abandoned and unwanted by so many in his life, he knew how to straighten his shoulders and carry on. Just for a little while. Remus herded him alone, off to the side to a room alone on the first floor of the house where the others could not see. No more peering eyes waiting for him to fall apart. The moment the door closed Sirius began to apologize, the tears beginning again as he realized he had betrayed his friend for a traitor.

"I'm so sorry, Remus. I thought you were the spy, how could I have done that? It was Peter! I trusted him! I convinced them to put their trust in him and he's betrayed us all! I'm so sorry, Remus! This is all my fault..."

Without saying a word, Remus gripped Sirius tightly, hugging his friend with a pained sigh as Sirius let the grief overcome him. The war had introduced them all to the pain of great loss, but this... this felt so final. It seemed a tragic end had befallen the war for the few so close to its last death.

However, for all others, the hesitant celebration began before morning had even begun. The night sky filled with owls and what appeared to be shooting stars as the whispers of Voldemort's demise spread through the wizarding world. By morning the sudden disappearance of all the Death Eaters seemed only to confirm it. There were no more skulls in the sky, no more deaths save those that had been sacrificed for their peace.

Voldemort was dead. The Potter boy must have fulfilled the prophecy. Harry Potter's name became famous overnight, celebrated as a babe who had defeated the Dark Lord in some sort of mutual destruction. Days passed, turned into weeks and then months without word or sighting of Voldemort's return. However, the Potter's and those closest to them could not join in the celebration.

They mourned over an empty grave, their son lost to them before he could even truly comprehend what he had meant to them.

Just as whispers had spread of Voldemort's death, shortly after that night, word had spread from the Carrows to the rest of the remaining Death Eaters who were quickly falling into hiding. At least, word spread to those followers who could be trusted not to abandon the cause. They were very careful about who learned the truth of what had happened that night, knowing if the Order learned of it then they'd be hunted relentlessly. Now they had no Dark Lord to protect them.

Four of Voldemort's most loyal followers attacked the Longbottoms, torturing Frank and Alice to try and divulge the truth of the prophecy. Was Voldemort's demise true, and the Potter boy the real Chosen, or did the Dark Lord somehow yet live, only defied but not yet destroyed. Should they kill the Longbottom boy? Should they kill the young, stolen Potter?

His most loyal believed the Dark Lord to live, assured by the knowledge and faith they held that he must have survived. How could a child have killed him? If he awaited them to find him again, then they would search, and they would ensure they killed any who opposed his return. The Longbottoms, however, had no information on which child might be the one to kill the Dark Lord, and knew not what had truly happened to Voldemort. His location was lost to the followers, and they each captured as the few free Death Eaters who hadn't already went deep into hiding. Those already hidden went even deeper.

As for the boy, the night Alecto and Amycus Carrow returned to their home was the start of a long and dark journey for the lost Potter child. Alecto tossed Harry into the arms of a trembling grayish-green house elf by the name of Gully. No care for whether or not children should be tossed around like Quaffles.

"You are to take care of it, don't let it die, and never ever tell anyone about it. Do you understand?"  
Gully nodded frantically, her large ears flapping as she cowered with the baby clutched, crying in her arms. "Yes, mistress! What does Gully call it, Mistress?"

Alecto thought, trying to recall the thing's name. No one would ever know it was alive, so why bother thinking up something new to call it? She couldn't think of anything new off the top of her head, but she was fairly sure of its name. Could babies even learn new names? Alecto had no experience to go by, and didn't rightly care anyways. Surely she thought, she had been an exceptionally bright child, but most had to be quite stupid. She hoped never to touch the thing again, only to keep it alive until it proved useful or not.

The Dark Lord would decide what to do with it when he returned. The right to kill the child was his alone after all the trouble it had caused.

"Bloody hell, just call it Harry. No one is to know about him. No one! Or I'll cut your limbs off in slices and then bash your worthless head in!"

"Alecto! Alecto this is madness! Let's just kill it already!" Amycus chased his sister as she stomped down the halls of the home they used to hide during the war. No Death Eater was foolish enough to practice the Dark Arts in the open of their own family manor – none except the proud Blacks.

"It destroyed the Dark Lord, how do we know we can kill it?"

That caused Amycus pause, looking a bit pale with fear. "It's a sniveling little child. A knife will do the trick."

"If the Dark Lord lives he'll wish to kill the brat himself."

The discussion was closed. The Carrows moved their hideout to another house, an abandoned property of their family long struck from Ministry records. The home sat not far from Hogsmeade, just far enough none would ever happen upon it by accident and close enough no one would expect them to be so near the village. It would take Mad Eye Moody himself to find them there, and the Carrows had no plans to stay in any place long enough to be found.

Gully was left to raise the boy, who, after a time, was mostly forgotten by his captors.

"Mum?" It's Harry's first word, reaching out blindly for anyone to hold him, but there was only Gully who panicked at the possibility of the Carrows hearing her be called such.

"No, Gully is a servant. Gully is Gully."

It took Harry a few weeks, but eventually his second word was Gully. Gully made sure to read to him so he learned lots of words, from books taken out of the Carrow manor where the new little twins had plenty of things that could be borrowed. Gully made sure to return them fast as she could, Apparating back and forth between the Carrow manor where she'd once lived in relative normalcy for a house elf of her time, to the hidden shack of a home where the child was to be kept.

"Gully, whas dat word?"

"Magic, Mister Harry." She read from the page, "The little wizard does magic with a wave of his wand."

"Whas a wand?"

"Wizards use wands to do magic." Gully pointed to the picture of the wizard and witch children on the page, tapping the wands in their hands. The little pictures moved slightly, their painted arms shifting to wave the wands which emitted little swirls of color.

"I do that?"

"Gully thinks so, Mister Harry. You are a Carrow, and the Carrows can do magic. One day you'll go to Hogwarts and learn how to do lots and lots of magic."

"Hog... Hog-warts?"

"Yes!" Gully nodded her head enthusiastically, ears flapping in a way that always made Harry laugh. "Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. All young witches and wizards receive their letters when they're eleven."

Harry, only a toddler still and struggling to understand the concept, looked up at Gully with a hopeful expression. He didn't know what a school was and he'd never met anyone other than the two very mean and loud adults who occasionally stormed through the house. Them and Gully. The whole world was their house and them two and the bit of forest just beyond their door.

"But... Mister Harry can't tell the Carrows when they come."

"Why?"

Gully's fingers tapped along the cover of the book in her hands, trying to think of the proper response for a child. In many ways, Harry was like a house elf child, needing to learn that his Masters could be violent if he wasn't very careful – could be violent even if he did everything completely right.

"Because... Master and Mistress Carrow... they might get angry if Gully teaches Mister Harry things. Master and Mistress... they're... not nice."

"Gully is nice."  
Gully smiled, big blue eyes a little teary. "And Mister Harry is nice. We do what we are told, we stay out of the way, and we are good."

"And no mean?"

"No, Mister Harry, sometimes still mean anyways."

"Oh... ok..." Harry didn't understand it yet, but he was a fast learner. Gully made sure to remind him to stay out of the Carrows way and be extra silent when either of them were in the house – hiding from Aurors while they jumped from place to place.

She didn't know how to protect him, other than to raise him like she would one of her own. Far away from their old house and their little family, his true parents mourned him. Every day of every year, the Potters grieved their lost child while the wizarding world continued to celebrate the time of peace that had come. To the rest of the world, the price of freedom was well worth the reward. To those that lived with the cost, it was far too much to have paid.


	2. A Most Peculiar House Elf

Harry was only five when he was hit for the first time, a slap across the face. Gully had expected it sooner, but Harry was nothing if not obedient to Gully's instructions. Still, he was only a child, and children cried when they were in distress or pain. All it took was a small trip down the last few steps of the stairs while Gully was called away to serve Alecto, and the boy couldn't keep to the silence demanded of him.

Until that point, the Carrow's had mostly forgotten the boy existed. Out of sight out of mind was a house elf motto and way of life. The Death Eaters were too concerned with staying free from the law and finding the Dark Lord – wherever he had gone. Four years was a long time to be running, and eventually the world began to calm its search. People moved on, the Ministry had new problems to deal with, the last of the trials were finished on those who had been captured.

Families began to work their ways back into the good graces of society, elbowing their way in with little actual grace and more flaunting of power. If one could bring stability back to their world, one could reclaim the power they had lost. While everyone else settled into stability and began writing the war into history, only the Ministry Aurors still kept up the hunt. Battles were waged in the shadows and now the sun had come out there were little grounds left to wage war upon.

The Carrows returned to their house more and more often, less in hiding and more involved in their actual family. There were still branches of their family tree that hadn't fallen entirely and been thrown in Azkaban for good. The Carrow estate and its many abandoned properties were once again safe for Alecto and Amycus to roam at their pleasure.

Harry however was unaware that that meant  _he_  could no longer roam about as he wished.

The pain stinging his cheek didn't help his tears, Gully whisking him away before Alecto could tell her otherwise. It was rule that Harry was best never seen or heard from, so it was easier to forget they'd kept him around. Any day might be the time when the Carrows decided they should just kill the boy if he seemed more trouble than he was worth.

If the Dark Lord wasn't coming back to kill him anytime soon then why bother? But the idea of the reward they would get for keeping the child for their Master's own punishment glittered in their minds like jewels shining just out of reach. It sparkled in their eyes, that greed, whenever they started thinking of the "good old days". They lusted after the power they had lost and were reluctant to give up any chance of regaining it.

It was inevitable that Gully discovered the truth of the matter listening in on her Master and Mistress. They argued often when they both occupied the house. The two of them were violent creatures, always clashing with everything around them, looking for a fight. The enemy in question didn't even have to be living. If a piece of furniture got in the way of their path they'd shatter it to bits with the same ferocity and pleasure as they enjoyed torturing people.

It was a terrible miracle that the Aurors didn't manage to catch the two. A terrible, terrible miracle indeed.

It had finally been accepted that Voldemort would not return, at least not soon. Amycus was adamant they kill the boy. There was no use in keeping him around if Voldemort wasn't returning to finish him off as Alecto had once thought. Dust had gathered on their greed, so poor and dull now after years of hopeless searching.

"Don't you get it, you idiot!" Alecto swiped out at her brother, aiming to hit him upside the head as he ducked. They were seconds away from throwing curses at each other, Gully knew it.

Gully hid in the hallway, well in earshot, peeking around the bend of the wall to watch them. She could easily dodge any curse flung from that vantage point. Though... if something went flying through the wall. Well, at least she'd see it and pop right out of the way then.

"He's nothing! Why keep him?"  
"Because we can still use him! Imagine brother, if one or both of us were to be captured," She grinned with a wicked smile of yellowing teeth. "Those Aurors drag us to trial in the Ministry and what do we have to defend ourselves with?"  
Amycus stared at her blankly, not getting it. His head and heart were both woefully empty after all.

"The boy!" Alecto howled, smacking him hard on the arm. "The boy you dimwit. We have him, alive and well. Think of the people who would fall to their knees begging for the boy back."

"His parents..."

"And all their little Order friends would help them. We could trade him for our freedom!"

"Then let's trade him now!" Amycus demanded, looking up at the ceiling towards the second floor. The by then six year old was sitting quietly in his cold, empty room on a pallet of torn up blankets and a single stolen pillow like a lost puppy someone had abandoned on the street. Lost, with more enemies than any six year old rightfully ought to have.

"And face the wrath of our fellows? They'd know us for deserters. We'd be targeted by every follower of the Dark Lord left if we traded him now. They'd go out of their way to kill us. Or they might take the boy and kill us on the spot. The only advantage we have is that we hold the boy's life in our hands... Gully!"

Gully Apparated quickly to her Mistress' side. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Should Amycus or I ever be captured and arrested by the Ministry or anyone, you are to take the boy and hide him where you will not be found until you are called for." Alecto's stare bore down on Gully the threat of death in her eyes. "Should any Ministry fellows or any of the like come here with or without us, you are to do the same. No one finds the boy until we say so."

"Y-yes, Mistress..." Gully gulped, cowering away from Alecto.

"You are never to tell anyone about him, never to give him over to anyone else. Understood you worthless maggot?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Get out of my sight."

Gully was gone in an instant, out of sight and out of mind in the cellar where she could think. Oh, how glad Gully was that the Carrows cared not at all for overseeing the raising of the boy. Gully could do it right. Gully could help Harry, help him stay safe until he could get back to his family. Yes, Gully would help Harry, no matter what.

Gully taught Harry to read in secret, made sure he learned how people talk in the books since Gully knew wizards didn't talk like house elves. They spoke all proper like and didn't cower or stumble or stammer when they spoke. She popped into the Carrow manor kitchen, taking what the house elves there could give her to keep him fed, sneaking books and things back and forth. She couldn't take things like toys since those would be missed, but clothes thrown out when the twins get too old could be kept. No one missed old clothes, the twins went through them so quickly and Gully could take them apart and put them back together to fit the boy.

Harry didn't care if his clothes were patchwork pieces. He quite liked the different colors and patterns – even if they were mostly shades of green and gray and black. The Carrows were a Slytherin household after all, very proud of it, only the occasional Ravenclaw whose brilliance could not be denied as overpowering their cunning aptitude. Gully thought the green looked very good with Harry's eyes anyways.

Flora and Hestia were quiet children, not very active or even very happy. They dressed alike always in their blacks and greens, and they were smaller than Harry. The other Carrow house elves didn't mind much that Gully took the baby clothes, after all they rarely had need for new clothes – and even if they did they hardly changed them. It wasn't for house elves to have nice things after all, but human children got colder than elf children so it had to be okay since it helped Gully keep the child alive.

They were all aware that Gully's mission was to keep a child alive, and that the child was about the same age as the twins. They'd helped give supplies and things to Gully when she was first tasked with the boy after all, and they need not break the rules by asking questions to know things. House elves knew many, many things, but their masters need not know that. The Carrows and their like especially need never know.

It was a good thing Harry didn't mind looking much like a house elf himself, since it took a while for Gully to get anywhere near good at sewing whole pieces of clothing. Harry had only ever seen the Carrows and Gully that he could remember, so he had no reason to care about how he looked. He was a happy child, so much happier than the twins, resilient as any house elf child to all the terrible things that happened to him.

However, sometimes he did cry, wail and howl at night and dream terrible dreams that Gully didn't understand. They sounded happy after all, when Harry explained, full of smiling happy people whose faces he couldn't quite remember, but who made him so sad he would wake up crying. Eventually, after a few years, he stopped dreaming or thinking of those faces altogether as the memories drifted away with time. Whatever family had loved him was gone, and he could not waste his many thoughts on things that were gone.

A problem did arise as Harry got older that Gully wasn't sure how to fix. He struggled to read words on pages, sometimes tripped over things he couldn't see. While he didn't say anything of it, Harry's eyes tightened in a show of painful of headaches as he squinted at the house. He could navigate the house and immediate surrounding woods with his eyes closed if he needed, but it still didn't stop the problem of needing glasses.

Gully was not going to ask either Carrow for money to get Harry glasses. That meant, she dreaded the thought, she'd need to steal them or barter for them. Two tricky tasks for a house elf. Gully didn't dare ask the other elves for help. House elves didn't need such things and they never ever took them.

She would have to take the chance though that somewhere there was a house elf just as peculiar as she who could help her. Gully started with bartering, asking around, letting word spread down the gossip chain of house elves. Another fact of house elves not well known by their masters was their penchant for gossip and information. House elves after all hear and see everything that happens in their houses. They would never betray their families, no not even to the Ministry, but that didn't mean they didn't know absolutely everything about them.

Eventually, word came back through the Carrow manor about a free elf who worked for a wizard who made spectacles of all sorts. The gossip had had to spread through many a confused house elf who couldn't see why an elf would need glasses so the information had taken a while to circle back and forth before making it to Gully. Still, Gully was glad that the first method had worked before the boy did something while half blind that got him beat or worse.

She went to the wizard's shop to speak with the house elf, explaining as best she could that she was under order not to explain the circumstances, but that she needed glasses for a child of which she had no money to spend on. It was the wizard in the end who took pity on Gully when his elf partner told him of her situation. He told Gully that if she could not bring the child to him, then he would give her a few pairs to try out and then she could give him measurements for a proper pair.

Gully liked the glasses wizard. Herman, he said his name was, Herman Ficklewart – a terribly wizard name to have in Gully's opinion. At least Harry's name was the slightest bit elf-ish.

He was a kindly wizard, with a soft spot for the downtrodden and the overlooked it seemed. The free elf was his partner, a right craftsmen in his own right though neither would ever let word get out of it. Gully suspected the wizard had many types of friends he wasn't supposed to and only liked him more for it. The world needed more open minded wizards who didn't look down their noses at the smaller folk about them. She bet Herman Ficklewart even liked muggles.

The wizard gave her a box of little disks of glass, telling her to keep them in order, and remember the one which helped the child see the best.

Gully, so entirely thrilled, had gone through the disks with Harry at once and Apparated back within the hour, disk selected and measurements ready.

"What do you think of style, madam elf?" The old wizard waved a hand to a wall of frames, squares and rectangles and circles, all in lines down the wall. "I can make any sort of shape, why I even had a woman the other week who wanted triangles. Triangles, can you believe it?" Herman shook his head in amusement, watching Gully look carefully at the glasses before looking nervously about the room as she thought.

She had no idea what Harry might like, though she figured he'd be rather excited about anything she brought back with her. Gully smiled a bit at the thought of the boy's grin and turned, ready to pick when Herman exclaimed a loud noise of disappointment down towards the Daily Prophet on his desk. He had taken to reading while she browsed, giving her space to think.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

"Oh, just slanderous reporting, madam elf." Gully blushed at the title's use again, subtly trying to glance at the paper only for Herman to turn it to show her.

The picture was of a woman in her late twenties, smiling dimly beside her husband who had an equal look of measured happiness. They seemed very sad for smiling people, Gully thought.

"Another of those Rita Skeeter articles on the Potters, such a vile woman," Herman commented, glancing at the article beside the picture. "She's got gnomes in her head if she thinks the Potters will ever end their marriage." He scoffed, waving off the whole thing.

Gully tilted her head curiously at the page – Potters' Practically Parted? It wasn't the worst title, but it was still as trash as the article itself according to Herman, speculating if Lilly and James Potter were going to be divorced soon due to the strain of losing their son despite having deciding to have children again several years after his death. Gully tilted her head at the photo, squinting at the faces that seemed almost familiar. Gully couldn't recall seeing them before though. Certainly such nice looking people who appeared in papers never hung about with the like of the Carrows.

However, she did like the look of the glasses on the man, round and well fit to the shape of his face.

She handed back the page, turning back to the frames on the wall. Gully pointed to a pair of round, black frames.

"Those? Get a bit inspired, did you?" Herman questioned. Gully nodded shyly. "Well alright. If you say so."

The glasses fit Harry perfectly, just a little loose so he could grow a bit, but not too much to slide off his head when he looked around. Gully tied a bit of string to each of the ends so it would hang off his head should they actually slip and fall. Beneath the scruffy head of black hair that covered the lightning bolt scar across his forehead, his green eyes shone brightly rimmed in glasses that made him look much more like the man in the Prophet photo.

"Perfect, Mister Harry!"

He grinned, looking at his reflection in a left behind shard of a long since broken and removed mirror – another victim of Alecto.

"They're brilliant. Thank you, Gully!" He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the house elf in a tight hug – not very strong of one regardless since he was far too skinny for his age.

Gully made a note to herself that she needed to get more food for the boy if he was going to be strong enough to... Gully didn't like to think about the day Harry might have to fight back against the Carrows or even Gully herself if he needed to get away and escape. She couldn't even tell him the truth due to the order silencing her, but she could raise him right.

She would help Harry if it killed her – and it would likely kill her. But he was  _her_ boy now. Gully would raise him to be a proper human, with all the manners and skills and magic he needed to survive the Carrows and the whole world. He would be the strongest child of any house elf who ever lived.

Even better, while he would have to follow every order the Carrow's gave him, while he was still a prisoner of their house just as much as Gully, one day... one day Harry could leave. One day Gully could help Harry go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you liked it and want to see more! Hit that Kudos button - leave a comment! Thank you for reading :D


	3. Lumos

The years passed painfully slow. There was no telling how long the Carrows would be gone, leaving Gully and Harry alone in the house. They came and went and raged if the house was not ready for them. The previously long abandoned house required a lot of upkeep, and more than a few repairs. It once might have been a magnificent house, a mansion not unlike the others the Carrow family owned, but smaller and now long overgrown. Many of the walls bore holes exposing the house to the elements, its furnishings all in disrepair, broken, fading or rotted.

Gully had been assigned to the house not half a year before being given Harry to watch over. Back then there had been plans to repair it to its former glory. Now there was little time or resources to fix all the many problems with only one house elf to do the job whilst raising a human child.

To add to Gully's many grievances of house maintenance, serving the Carrows, and watching Harry was the beginning of Harry's role as a servant. It meant she had to teach him all the particulars of acting like a house elf as well as a human, and surviving the meanness that was directed towards those of her and Harry's lower rank.

Harry was only six when Alecto ordered him to clean up the tea she had spilled; or rather she'd flung it dramatically after letting it sit long enough to cool. After that they were other orders. Clean the floor, bring in wood for the fire, get out of my sight, bring me my dinner – they began to treat him like a house elf. That included treating him like they did their elves if he didn't work fast enough, didn't please them with the jobs he managed to finish.

Those were harsh and terrible lessons. One that Harry did not have the same understanding of as house elves. Gully was used to being punished and punishing herself for failing. That was the life of a house elf in a house like theirs, but Harry was human. He had once known kindness from everyone around him, and Gully had never shown him anything but kindness. Gully surprised herself, and if she was being honest she scared herself too, with how strongly she rejected the idea of teaching Harry to be more like an elf than a human. The more she taught him that the Carrow's meanness was wrong, the more she didn't understand why it was right for her and the other house elves.

Raising Harry brought up many very big, very scary questions for Gully. Many of which she ignored rather than think of answers for. It was hard to accept the idea that all the questions brought about. Questioning her masters went against her very nature. The other house elves would have told her to beat such thoughts from her head, but as time went on Gully found she rarely punished herself for her mistakes anymore.

Every time the Carrows left Gully and Harry were able to exhale great big sighs of relief. Waiting for the Carrows to return was enough to drive one mad. There was always the possibility they might pop back in and ruin whatever peace had managed to settle over the house while they were gone. Alecto was so angry the first time she saw Harry's glasses that she smashed them under her feet till they were nothing but tiny glass shards and mangled wire. The witch had grinned wickedly at his tears before setting her fury on the house elf responsible for the spectacles.

Only after setting her Cruciatus Curse on Gully was Alecto finally convinced no money had been spent on the boy, and left them alone about it. Though, both Carrows would take the glasses and snap or crush them whenever they felt like it just to watch Harry's face fall.

Gully was able to fix them with a snap of her fingers, but that pair never seemed to fit right on Harry's face again. At least, that's what Harry said when she saw he would take them off each time Alecto came around. Such a small child he was, yet quickly becoming adept at survival. Harry could blend into the background, move about so quietly and quickly without being seen – Gully taught him well.

They would play games, running about the creaky old house with the goal to make as little noise as possible less monsters chase them. Gully knew lots of games that house elf children played in their short youth before they started working. Most of them focused on the skills of being quiet and unseen – as all young house elves should be.

Were he to have other children to play with, Harry would have been very good at hide and seek. It was unlikely any child would have been able to find him. Alas, he'd never met another child, so he had no opportunity to show off his hard won skills.

Playing with the Carrows however was no game, even though Harry sometimes fancied it one to lift his spirits a bit. If he was seen, if they noticed him at all more than to give him an order, they might decide to play with him. Harry learned fast the Carrows did not enjoy the same kind of fun as he and Gully did.

His Master and Mistress both enjoyed pain, enjoyed watching others suffer or be miserable. Being on the run made them frustrated, stressed, so tense the only way they seemed to relax was to come back and find a reason to cause Gully or Harry pain. It was only good to be around them when they'd managed to evade or even take down an Auror. It was a very good day if they came home after killing one. The murderer would come back elated, wanting to drink one of the dusty bottles of liquor left over in the house and toss coins to Gully for her to make them a proper meal.

Harry might even get extra scraps those days if he were lucky.

It was an unlucky day if anyone else came with the Carrows back to the house. If a stranger came, Harry had to sit quietly in the attic where it was always cold and damp. He couldn't move about or even play his quiet games. It was too risky to be found. The Carrows didn't want to give up their prize or risk angering their fellows. There was one very long, grueling week in particular when an ally of Amycus had stayed pacing about the whole house, hardly ever sleeping every day.

"Can I come out yet?" Harry asked Gully each time she came to give him some food and make sure he hadn't frozen to death in the cold of the attic.

"Not yet Mister Harry, the bad man is still here. You must be quiet a little longer." Gully told him, making sure the blankets were tucked all around the boy in his patchwork clothes. He was getting big, already nine years old, growing taller even if he was rather thin. He was already taller than she was. He was getting faster too, running in the woods and practicing his quiet steps on the dry leaves of autumn.

"When will he leave?"

"Gully doesn't know."

"Can I have something to read?" Harry was dreadfully bored. He was patient, could wait and wait and wait in the attic as quiet as a mouse for hours or days, but it had been so long. The wizard downstairs hardly slept at all so Harry couldn't go downstairs even to get one of his hidden books.

Gully brought him a near burned down candle and a book on wizard spells. It was an old textbook for first year witches and wizards, long forgotten on a bottom shelf of the library at the Carrow manor. The twins would have new ones when they were old enough to go to school, so no was likely to miss this one. Gully had had a hard time acquiring it, telling herself over and over again that she was  _borrowing_ the books from her masters, not stealing.

Harry flipped through the pages, squinting with his face and the candle close to the page in the dark of the attic through the night. There were so many spells he wanted to try, but they all talked about him having a wand to do so. All the books always said that wizards and witches needed wands except for the little book about all the wizard schools Gully had once brought.

He hadn't been able to finish it because Gully had to take it back when once of the twins missed it, but he knew students at the school in a place called Africa didn't always have to use wands. It just made it easier, and nothing in Harry's life had ever been easy. He didn't know where Africa was, but maybe he could attend that school instead of Hogwarts since he didn't have a wand. Then he could learn at least a few spells from the textbook Gully had brought him. Surely they'd let him try at least?

He was a very hard worker. Harry had nothing to do except learn and work.

Spells for light and mending things and cleaning things and repairing things, there were so many things he could learn from the new book. It occurred to Harry how much easier all the chores he was given would be if he could do the spells in the book. If he learned the spells he could finish his work faster and then have time to learn new spells.

He could be like Gully! Gully could do spells, Harry thought, and Gully didn't have a wand. Maybe she'd gone to school in Africa. Harry would have to ask later.

When the candle burned down, Harry pointed his finger at the page. He thought about the times that Gully had simply snapped her fingers and a task was half complete. Just like that. He just had to will it to happen. The book said will and determination were half the job of channeling his magic to do what he wanted.

"Lumos," He whispered, thinking very hard about the spell. Harry waited, the dark continuing around him. He motioned his finger in the movement the book indicated of the wand to follow and tried again, thinking very hard about how he wanted light, "Lumos."

For a moment, Harry thought he saw his finger begin to glow, but no bright light emitted to help him read. He frowned, straightening a bit, thinking very hard and wanting it very much and moving his finger in the motion and saying as quietly as he could with all the purpose he could manage, " _Lumos_."

From the very tip of Harry's finger came a small bright light, hovering just at its end so close he couldn't see where it separated from his skin. Perhaps it was his fingertip glowing rather than a light flickering at the end like a candle. He wasn't sure yet, but with a light in hand he was more than ready to read about it.

Books, Harry was quickly learning, were not at all like people. People didn't always have answers, or they chose not to answer, or the answer didn't make any sense. Books never lied and always told him something new, always gave him an answer as clear as they could so he'd understand.

Harry grinned, his smile brighter than the weak light at the end of his hand, so very proud of himself. He was sure Gully would be very proud to. He had to squint still, as the light was barely more than the candle had been. Harry read until his eyes drooped closed and he slumped over the book in his lap, his light vanishing in sleep. He dreamed of walking through the woods around the house at night, lost in the dark until he called forth a bright light to his hand and found his way home where...

The dream became very confusing, all that pride and joy at using magic dimming at the realization the home he found was not the one Gully and he shared. It was similar, but rather... shapeless. Like a drawing, its basic shape taken from a picture book he'd once read, the features disappearing whenever he looked for them. The lights were on inside and Harry could hear voices coming from the house, but the people were shadows in the window.

He couldn't see their faces. "Hello?" He called out. "Who are you?"

His light flickered in his hand, a bright glowing ball in his palm that caught the attention of those inside. They seemed to turn, looking at him, but he still couldn't see their faces. Harry started to step forward, but a bright green light overpowered all the warm yellow coming from the windows. It was so bright he had to look away, closing his eyes. When it dimmed the house and the people inside it were gone.

All that was left was Harry, alone in the vast darkness around him with only the little light in his hand to guide him. When he woke up, he didn't tell Gully about the dream. It had frightened him too much, but he told her all about the light spell he'd learned.

When he showed Gully what he could do, the house elf was quiet for a very long time. She pat his shoulder, and told him to keep staying quiet in the attic a little longer. Gully didn't talk about the spell again for several days, but she didn't take away the book or stop him either.

It wasn't till the strange wizard downstairs was gone and the Carrows absent that Gully sat to talk with Harry about the spell.

"Harry mustn't let the Master and Mistress know about the spells."

"But I could do my chores and –,"

"Harry must promise Gully."

"Promise what?" Harry was confused again. The Master and Mistress did magic, and Gully did magic, and he was supposed to be able to do magic. Why shouldn't he?

"Harry must promise Gully he will never use magic around the Master and Mistress. They mustn't know that Harry is learning magic."

Harry winced, looking away and fiddling with his hands. "Will they be mean?"

"Yes."

"Why are they mean?"

Gully didn't know the answer. She had never been a particularly smart house elf to begin with. It was a necessary trait for her people. But she had always been unusually brave. Brave enough to learn to read and teach a little boy. Brave enough to "borrow" things from her masters. Brave enough to go places and talk to people a loyal and obedient house elf never should without punishing themselves most severely for the indiscretion.

Most house elves Gully knew might have answered that they are mean because they are human. That was the way humans were. They were mean. They looked down on those who were lesser than they were. They lashed out at things that upset them and blamed anyone other than themselves. It was the duty of the house elf to be obedient anyway, to be forgiving and patient and above all else loyal.

She didn't know the answer to why the Carrows had grown up mean. Gully thought it ran in their whole family, a trait like the color of their hair or the shape of their stubby human noses. When they were born Carrows grew up to be boring or mean, and sometimes both.

"Gully doesn't know. Gully doesn't know if Mister Harry will ever know. But we must never be mean. Does Harry promise?"

"Harry promises. I won't be mean and I won't do magic around the Master and Mistress."

He wanted to ask about the school in Africa, and when he would get to go there or to Hogwarts, and if he could have a wand all his own, but he didn't. Harry didn't want to upset Gully more than she was already. Asking questions about those kind of things made Gully nervous and scared, like when the Carrows were home.

Harry didn't want to be like them at all.

"Very good, Mister Harry. Very good." Gully smiled at him, uplifting the cheeks of her droopy face.

"Can I still try to do the spells?" He asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Gully replied wearily, sure any other house elf might have simply exploded from the stress of her situation. "Harry can keep trying spells." What was the harm anyway?

There were months that felt like years in the house, slowly creeping through each day. The only thing to do was work or read, and Harry at times grew tired of the same books Gully could bring back to him. He'd sit in the yard, staring at the trees, wondering how far he'd have to run before he could find other people. The books he read talked about other people and places, so he knew they had to be out there, somewhere.

There was a world just past the trees, he just had to run far enough to find it.

He tried, tried to walk as far as he could, but he knew the farther he went the farther he had to come back if the Carrows called for him. He couldn't be long if they wanted him or they'd be angry. So, Harry always turned back before he got far enough to find anyone.

He studied the textbook on spells and charms over and over, until he knew all the spells and how to do them by heart. Harry practiced with sticks from the woods, moving them like wands. He could summon light to his hand, stronger than when he'd first started and as bright as he wanted it. He practiced over and over again until it was perfect. There were certain spells that he couldn't get to work no matter how hard he tried. But he could make flames appear if he tried very hard – though he couldn't control them when they appeared so Gully made him stop. Sometimes he could make objects float, but they always fell if he got distracted and wobbled the few inches he could make them rise.

Harry stared at doors, trying to lock and unlock them. Every few hours he would succeed at doing one but be unable to do the other, and by then he'd be tired and frustrated. He wanted very much to be eleven and learning magic at a school. It was a bad day if the Carrows broke something. It meant they'd be furious with him or Gully, but it also meant he could try the mending charm over and over until he'd fixed whatever they broke.

"Very good Mister Harry!" Gully would cheer when he'd managed to put a plate back together even though you could still see the cracks and sometimes it fell back apart again later. "Good as new," She'd say even though the teacup still had a massive chip that hadn't fixed with the rest of the cup.

Gully brought him books on magic when she could, since the closer he got to elven the more he thought about Gully's words on Hogwarts and the book on other schools. She greatly regretted having told him about the school. He'd asked so many times over the years and she'd indulged because it made him happy. But Gully didn't know if a letter could come to a lost child. How would the school know where to find him? The Carrows weren't likely to let him go even if he did get a letter.

Their house in the woods was an unmarked grave. No one could find it, for they knew not to look.

For his eleventh birthday, the house elves of the manor put together a little cake for Gully to take to Harry – well aware she was taking care of a hidden child though they knew not who he was. She'd taken little sweets to him before, on birthdays and holidays, but at eleven he got his first cake.

When Gully brought it out, two little candles lit on top, Harry's eyes seemed to grow as wide as his glasses, looking up at Gully in disbelief.

"A whole cake? For me?" He'd never had cake before, didn't even know what it tasted like. He forgot to say thank you, so caught up in excitement and disbelief.

"The other house elves made it all for you! Gully wrote the words and got them the eggs."

It was vanilla with white icing. There wasn't enough icing to cover the whole cake, but Happy Birthday Harry was written in careful green letters on the top.

Harry closed his eyes and blew out the candles, thinking and wishing extra hard for the one thing he wanted more than anything else.

"There's one more thing," Gully said after he'd made his wish. "A present."

"But the cake is a present." Harry watched as Gully brought him a bundle wrapped in an old newspaper, tied up with bits of string to hold it together. Harry sat with it in his lap, staring between it and Gully almost scared to open it. "It's mine?"

Gully nodded, her ears flopping about but Harry didn't laugh this time. He carefully untied the string, pulling back the newspaper with just as much caution. Beneath the newspaper was a knitted sweater, a bulky mass of green, black and dark grey. The house elves had saved enough yard scraps to knit him a sweater that wasn't handed down or patched from bits of other sweaters sewn together. It was a mess of shades; collected, traded for and passed along through house elves from different families. As far as the house elves were concerned, Harry was technically a member of the Carrow family so it was fine to make him clothes.

He had to roll up the sleeves and tuck it into his pants, but Harry loved it. He was proud to have something that was his own and no one else's.

Harry insisted Gully have a piece of the cake, the two eating in front of the fire as an unusual chill had come over the late July night. He was careful not to get any crumbs on his new sweater, and refused to take it off when he went to sleep that night. Harry curled into himself, pulling the sleeves over his hands and trying to fall asleep through the sugar rush of his first piece of cake.

He'd had a wonderful birthday. The best of his life, at least that he could remember. Harry was rather disappointed to find his dreams were once again full of the house in the dark. It had been haunting him for years, becoming more and more unclear until all that remained were the windows. Warm and bright, the shadows of people happy within until the green light overtook everything and left him alone again.

* * *

In Godric's Hollow and other homes across England, lights turned out a little earlier than normal. Curled into her bed in a dark room all Lily could think about was her son. He should have been eleven now, the age to attend Hogwarts in the fall. She shouldn't have had to say goodbye to her son for longer than a day or two all his life until waving him off from the platform.

She could remember so clearly waving goodbye to her own parents and how she'd dreamed of doing the same for Harry when he was old enough. She wanted to watch the train until it disappeared from sight and see his hand waving out the window. He should have been with her, always. A bright, happy boy with his father's unruly hair and her eyes and the mischief of every marauder instilled in him through his many uncles.

James put the other children to bed, all three a little too young still to really understand why their parents were so sad at the same time every year – how even their cheerful holidays sometimes were interrupted by moments of quiet and far away looks from either parent trapped in moments of mourning. It was normal for the Potter children that their parents or their uncles become sad without warning and wander off until they came back seemingly happy again.

"Mommy is just sad," James whispered, tucking in his eldest daughter as she stared up at him with Lily's green eyes – just like her brother. "Today reminds her of your big brother."

"Even though he's gone?"

"Especially because he's gone."

Rose frowned, scrunching together her brows in deep thought. A magic night light sent stars twirling slowly overhead on the ceiling as she stared up at them in thought. "Are you sad too?"

"Yes, Rosie, I'm sad too." James tried to smile reassuringly, but the look obviously failed.

Rose sat up, disrupting the tucked in sheets around her to surge forward and hug her father tightly. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

James laughed softly, feeling very hollow inside. "It's okay, honey."

When she pulled back reluctantly, Rose was frowning again, very uncertain about so many things when it came to her lost brother. "Should we be sad too?"

That one tripped him a little, more a question for Lily and he to answer together, but James tried his best alone. "That's up to you and your siblings. You never knew your brother, but its okay to miss not knowing him and growing up with him if you want. It's okay not to miss him, too."

"Is he a ghost? Is he with us here?"

James tilted his head at the little red head, smiling a little. "No, he's not a ghost... but sure, we can believe he's here with us. He's in our hearts at least, and he'll never leave us that way. Your brother would have loved you as much as we do, and I bet the two of you would have been the perfect siblings – driving each other bonkers."

He tapped the tip of Rose's nose and she giggled a little. "Harry would have been a good big brother?"

"Without a doubt." James truly had no idea. He'd never had siblings himself, and Harry had never had the chance to grow up and meet his little sisters or bother. Sirius was the closest he had to a brother, and the two of them had gotten on like a house on fire. They'd driven each other crazy sometimes, but they'd been even better at driving others up the wall together instead.

There were too many possibilities of how it all could have turned out, but James liked to think the happy child he'd had for a short time would have stayed the same growing up. Harry would have been a kind and protective big brother, leading the way for a whole new generation of Potters to shake up the world. Well, technically Harry already did that, but James would have been happier having him alive. James would have traded his life for his son's in a heartbeat.

"Go to bed, sweetie. Mum and Dad will feel better in the morning."

They wouldn't, of course, but they'd smile and go through their paces. The children would notice. Rose was too clever for her age, even at only eight, and her siblings followed in that cleverness despite each being a year younger than the one before them. Summer watched them through her glasses – square she insisted were her style, not circles – seeing everything they tried to hide with the innocent perceptiveness of a child well attuned to their parents. Only the youngest of the three, Abe, was mostly ignorant to when something was off about his parents, but even he would learn the signs as he got older.

His sister's would help him. They were very responsible and well behaved children for their age.

James closed the door to Rose's room, watching her until the door was shut and he could lean his forehead against it to take a deep breath. He jumped when he finally turned, seeing Lily had come from their room to stand in the hallway. She was hovering outside Summer's room, arms wrapped hugging herself staring at the door.

"Lily... what are you doing?" She'd been in bed all day, as she normally was on Harry's birthday. She managed to get up and get through every other day of the year with strength he'd never known in anyone else all his life. But today was that hardest of the year, harder even than the day they lost him.

There were few pictures of Harry Potter left in the house, but he left a lingering presence there that refused to move. It haunted the Potters with the reminder that something was missing, a feeling they'd forgotten something important and were still trying to find it. Sometimes Lily walked upstairs and turned into the rebuilt section of the house, standing in front of what was once the nursery door, thinking if she opened it he would still be waiting on the other side.

Instead it was just Summer's room, finally in use after sitting empty for years even after the repairs. It had been hard, walking into that room and not imagining what had been lost there.

Lily jumped, hearing him speak, but didn't look at him. "I'm thinking about Harry."

James moved slowly towards her, keeping his steps and voice quiet. "Me too, and Rosie apparently..." He idled up next to her, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the door. Summer was already asleep, or at least she had been when he put her to bed. "And Summer. We all miss him."

Her fingers dug into her sides, anchoring herself. Lily tried to hold back the words, knowing what James would think, knowing how it would sound, but she  _knew_  that something was wrong that she needed to fix. What was the point of being a witch if she wasn't going to listen to her magic?

"James..." Finally, she looked at him, two sets of sorrowful eyes meeting. Lily sighed, reaching out to him to hold her. "Let's go to bed."

They'd talk about it another day. For now, their house was quiet and their children were asleep. At least they were supposed to be. Summer Potter watched her parent's shadows beneath her door, the light from downstairs just enough so she could see. She was good at pretending to be asleep, liking the quiet of the house at night when everyone else had gone to bed.

When the light downstairs went off and the hall was entirely dark outside her door, she knew it was okay to talk to Harry.

"Happy birthday Harry," She whispered out into the dark, unable to sleep without talking to him. "Mum and Dad really miss you. We wish you were here." She paused, as if waiting for an answer even though she knew one wouldn't come.

She imagined he was a very good listener. He'd nod in her imagination, and his glasses would slip down his nose a bit. She didn't know if he'd really have had glasses like her when he grew up, but Rose and Abe didn't need them, and they both looked like Lily with their red hair.

So, despite the fact she had James eyes instead of Lily's, Summer imagined he'd grow up to look like their dad, just like her. They'd get along the best, and he'd teach her to play Quidditch because he wanted to be Captain of the team and would be a Chaser like their Dad. And then she'd be one too.

Summer figured she'd grow out of talking to him eventually... maybe. In the meantime, she told him about her day and asked him whether or not he would still like her if she went into Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor like their parents.

* * *

Harry didn't receive a letter, not one. No owls came near the house, not one to even give him the slightest bit of hope. He sat on the floor, scrubbing halfheartedly at a bloodstain as Gully tried to cheer him up. But there was nothing that could make this sadness better.

In the back of his mind, Harry had always known there was something really wrong. He felt like he lived in a fairy tale, like one of the muggle books Gully brought back for him – the only ones he could keep so long as he hid them well. The house was his tower, his cage, and he was locked away by an evil witch and wizard until someone came to rescue him.

Except, his birthday had come and gone, and no one had sent a letter. No one came to take him away. There were no knights or wizards or heroes coming to help him.

Harry decided he would have to rescue himself.

First he needed a wand, and perhaps an owl, all his own. Like a proper wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the comments and kudos and for reading this far! Let me know what you think and please hit that kudos button if you like it. Less summary and more action and dialogue coming up next! Hope you like this chapter and the ones to come


	4. Letters to the Lost

Elwood was most unhappy with his current position. This task was, after all, not a normal part of his job and he prided himself on being very,  _very_  good at his work. Never, in all his life, had he failed at completing a task once he set out to do it. He had flown through his training with ease, just like his parents and their parents. Perfection was in his bloodline, failure unacceptable. So this inconvenience was most vexing and unusual.

The other owls would surely have a good laugh at him, a real hoot. Normally Elwood was assigned heavy packages, things that smaller owls could not bear with his speed and grace. He was a very proud creature, a great horned owl of magnificent stature and golden brown coloring among the well preened blacks and whites of his feathers. In his mind, as much a mind as an owl has (and for an expertly trained owl of Eeylops Owl Emporium he had quite the mind), delivering Hogwarts acceptance letters to children who did not exist was  _well_  below him.

It must have been a clerical error that had sent Elwood on his way. Too many last minute letters and too many children whose names should have been crossed off during the course First Wizarding War but hadn't. The Quill of Acceptance's job was only to record children with magic and their last known locations, so the fault wasn't with it. The Book of Admittance cared not for keeping track itself when it was too busy fighting the quill over which potential students belonged in its pages.

Neither did the fault lie in the twin magic quills left to write and address the dozens of letters to students. They had worked on that year's letter written once by Professor McGonagall and left to the task of copying without fail, perfect replicas. They had scribbled through the night and day off the list the Professor had left them of students who would attend in the fall. Professor McGonagall had never made mistake before, and surely she wouldn't have failed in the list of students for that year. Not that magic quills could doubt or question their work either way and Elwood wouldn't dare doubt her, yet here he was regardless.

From there the letters had been sealed and dropped into two stacks, one for the wizard born and one for the muggle-born. The muggle-born letters were divided among the special messengers who had been calling upon muggle homes the last several weeks to introduce parents into the magical world their children were soon to enter. The letters to magical born children had been given to the owls to deliver. Barn owls, brown owls, tawny owls, and the occasional screech or snowy owl had all been sent out to deliver their letters.

This was, most assuredly, not a task for Elwood. However, he had been given this letter specifically by Professor McGonagall herself with instructions to find the person the letter was addressed to regardless of the time it took him to do so. Surely Professor McGonagall would not have made a mistake and then handed him that mistake personally. It wasn't plausible, nor was a solution calculable – even for an owl so proudly intelligent as he.

Elwood was quite on edge about it all. There was a mouse lolling about on its merry way not far on the ground below his branch and he desperately wanted to snatch it up for a nice snack. It was such a stupid mouse, so blissfully unaware of him right above it. Or possibly it was totally aware Elwood was currently on the job and unavailable to make a meal of him, laughing its squeaky little sounds, mocking Elwood.

It was setting his feathers on edge. He was rightfully and soundly ruffled.

The child to which the letter was addressed decidedly did not exist. Elwood was almost positive of it. He had checked its original dwelling and every dwelling in association with it. Not a single clue of where the child had disappeared to. He had been well on his way back to Hogwarts, extremely displeased and reluctant to admit his failure, when desperation had sent him following his instincts.

Owls have a natural affinity to magic and were known to find recipients of letters and packages without need of an address. They were supposed to just  _know_ , and Elwood was one of the best at doing so. This child, this  _Harry Potter_ , however was untraceable. Any other owl surely wouldn't have gotten near this close to finding him, and Elwood still hadn't found him.

There  _was_  a child. He had flown over the forest near Hogsmeade for hours, circling about above the trees, before landing outside the decrepit manor. It was overgrown on the outside, well camouflaged among the trees and underbrush, enough so it looked thoroughly abandoned. Elwood had settled in on his branch for a nap, waking at nightfall to the surprise of several windows being dimly lit from inside.

He had been keeping watch for three days now, occasionally setting eyes on a small boy with wild black hair and a pair of slightly crooked, round glasses on his face, a house elf, and two particularly angry and unpleasing human adults who liked to make a show of yelling and storming about before disappearing. The boy was the right age as far as an owl could tell, but Elwood got no sense of whether or not he was the correct recipient.

His instincts told him this was the right place... maybe. The area past his branch was thoroughly coated in charms stacked haphazardly atop one another. Whoever had cast them wasn't attuned enough to any protective nature to make them especially effective. Still, if Elwood wasn't looking right at the house and the people within he would have sworn they weren't really there. If he flew forward any farther towards the house even his instincts went silent and some repelling charm sent him looping back to his original branch before he could reach the front door.

Elwood could not approach the house. He could not leave it without risking having to track it down again. Nor could he just drop the letter out in the middle of the woods. The moon peeked in the sky on what would have to be his last night outside the house, one day shifting into the next, the month coming to its end.

July 31st had come to a close, meaning the deadline to accept the letter he carried had now passed. Elwood had failed. He clawed at the branch beneath his feet, digging through layers of bark in his frustration. He was only an owl and this was a very difficult task to ask of him. Elwood was not excited to live with this disappointment and hoped he would forget about it very soon and never think on his first failed delivery again.

Elwood stretched out his wings, stiff from all the sitting and waiting, before launching into the air. He made one last soar towards the house, but again was turned away once more by the protective spells keeping the house and the boy both hidden and untouchable. Hogwarts, at least, was not far and an easy trip to make from the house for an owl.

He flew straight up towards the tower where he had received the letter, one tucked away and tightly locked from everything else. There were three sets of open archways, detailed in their architecture and well large enough for owls to dive through. Inside was a simple desk atop of which sat a heavy book and an empty silver ink pot with a single quill positioned in it. Stacks of opened letters sat to either side of the magic items as well as two lit candles. Perches were positioned around the room, though most were empty except for the owls still delivering last minute replies.

Elwood landed on the sturdiest available perch, staring intently at the woman still diligently working into the night. She turned immediately upon his arrival, seeming to have been waiting for him specifically as all else was put aside. The professor was a tall and severe-looking woman in green robes, her pointed hat usually atop her head sat off to the side on the desk for the moment. She hurried over to his perch, mouth pressed in a thin, worried line.

"There you are. I've been waiting for you all night Master Elwood. You've missed your deadline."

The other owls hooted and shook out their feathers seemingly in agreement, all wide awake and aware this late in the night. Elwood himself shifted nervously on his perch, well aware he came bearing bad news.

Professor McGonagall took the unopened letter from Elwood, staring at the front which was addressed simply to Harry Potter – no address. She flipped it over, thumb brushing hesitantly over the unbroken Hogwarts seal. Her shoulders sagged as she stepped backwards to collapse into her chair continuing to stare at the letter.

"No luck then," She asked, looking up at Elwood.

He shifted again, one foot to the other, having no way to communicate the complexities of his mission's difficulty. Elwood had no way of knowing for sure if he had actually found the recipient or just a random boy whom he'd  _hoped_  would be an acceptable substitute to failure.

If he could, Elwood's response would have been something along the lines of:

"I am an owl of great intelligence and excellent bloodline. Any other owl would have returned days ago with nothing, but I, the best seeker of those who do not wish to be found among any of my kin, have returned with some success. However, I am only an owl, and I cannot go knocking on the door of a house covered in protective spells specifically designed to keep seekers like myself away and ask whether or not the boy in residence is the one you are searching for. In fact, even looking upon him, I am unsure he exists at all. I am most displeased with the idea you may have sent me to deliver a letter to a ghost, but even a ghost I would have been able to find without issue. So, I find that I shall have to rant my displeasure and frustrations of this impossible task for the rest of my life in order to hold off the shame and dishonor of failure upon my family and flock. If I could not only would I tell you all of this, but also immortalize it in a letter for which you could read pages of my newfound distaste for you in the written form for decades to come. Please, never ask a task of me again, I might actually retire after this whole catastrophe. I hope you get hit in the face with a particularly hard to remove jinx."

Once more, Elwood was limited by the fact he was indeed only an owl. To even from the complex, very annoyed, and heavily grieved response would have been beyond him. He could however puff out his feathers and let out a annoyed series of hoots to vent his frustration at his own failure and limitations.

This to McGonagall was enough of a no to reluctantly appease her. She set aside the letter, unsure whether or not to simply burn it and pretend she never sent it to begin with. It had been a shot in the dark, a hope that she dared not share with anyone else for fear they stop her or worse – it spread. No one else need think there was any cause to believe Harry Potter was still alive, but if he was out there somewhere surely of all owls Elwood would have found him.

The Ministry had been final in its declaration when she'd checked with them. The trace was gone from Harry Potter – as it was with death or the coming of age of a young wizard. They firmly denied any possibility that someone of dark alignment might have manually removed the trace in order to hide the boy and McGonagall had received a very stern letter reprimanding her for asking at all.

When she sent the letter, Minerva McGonagall had been driven to action by a budding hope that had begun upon the realization several years ago that Harry Potter's name was written in the Book of Admittance. Amidst recording the students to be admitted for that year, the Quill of Acceptance had lifted from its empty pot and the Minerva had sat back to see if the Book would close against it or not. The Book did not accept just any new child born with a trace of magic; it required proof and was quite stubborn about the fact, refusing to let the quill write a name until the child had shown adequate proof of magic. The two had never failed to record a child of proven magic, even if it took years for that child to show the right amount of proof.

There had been no dramatic shutting or squabbling between the two that day. The pages had flipped to a blank space and the quill had written down the name of one Harry Potter and alongside it his birthday so the reader might know his age in the future. Minerva had nearly had a heart attack. She had certainly stopped breathing for the moment finally gasping in shock as the quill deposited itself back in its pot without writing down a location in which to find the child.

She had called upon the Headmaster at once, pointing out the name in the book and arguing in favor of alerting both the family and the Ministry. They needed to begin the search for Harry Potter at once. He was alive.

The argument that had followed had been one of two sides; one so calm and stubborn it drove the other near to madness. Headmaster Dumblebore had conceded only that they two would look into the matter, that perhaps there was another child bearing the same name, or some strange echo left in time still following the strands of fate. Minerva had checked the book regularly, waiting for a location to appear. They had searched as well as they were able, all over England, across the Scottish lands, and Ireland.

Minerva had gone herself to the Potter's residence, following instructions not to tell the Potters, but asking them regardless about their own thoughts on Harry. She was sure Lily was of the same mind as she. But there wasn't enough proof. The Ministry wanted nothing more to do with the matter, they had done their best to put the whole war behind them. Return everything to the way it had always been was their method of fixing things, write it all into history and leave it there.

Aurors were to keep quiet about their hunts for dark wizards, the papers weren't to publish any pieces on the negative impacts still left over from the war, and no one was to go questioning whether Harry Potter might still be alive.

Because if Harry Potter survived that night... well to the Ministry that meant the Dark Lord might have survived as well and no one wanted that. They turned away, buried their heads and did their best to forget it all.

"I'm not convinced," McGonagall announced after several minutes in thought. She turned to Elwood who had jumped a little at her sudden confident declaration. "I'm still not convinced."

Elwood would have shrugged if he could. He was tired and hungry and wanted all of this to be over with. McGonagall had other plans. She tossed him a plump mouse as a reward for all his trouble so far and set to writing a hurried letter. He quickly realized the mouse was more bribe than reward as she turned to him with the letter to deliver - trusting him with the importance of this new task.

He set off into the night, displeased with the task and regretting having eaten just before a long flight.

At least this time his recipient was clear, and residing at a location he had visited not long before.

_Lily E. Potter_

_Potter Cottage_

_Godric's Hollow_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably unnecessarily long and drawn out in the grand scheme of things but I did enjoy writing about this disgruntled owl for some reason.


	5. Knockturn Alley

The problem with treating a human child like a house elf is that, no matter how many times you try to give them orders, they are not bound by the same magical limitations as an elf. Even if it had occurred to them to order Harry not to read books or do magic or plan ways to unknowingly bring about their demise, they had no way of ensuring Harry would comply save for constant observation or force. The latter they were happy to apply as they saw fit, but it had never occurred to them to order even Gully not to allow such freedoms.

What many wizards, and muggles for that matter, failed to realize was that just because you believed someone was lesser than you did not make it so. No difference in upbringing or bloodline would rob Harry from having the potential for greatness. Just as it did not stop freed house elves from living perfectly happy, societally considered "normal" lives with wants and wishes and needs of their own.

All either needed was the opportunity to be free.

However, Harry's goal was not necessarily freedom. The abandoned manor was the only home he could remember. Gully was his only family. The life he lived with the Carrows was his normal, it was all he knew. As fascinating as the idea of the outside world was, it was also terrifying and largely unknown. What Harry wanted was to go to school and learn magic like Gully had told him about.

Part of him wondered if the Carrows would be nicer to him were he a proper wizard, if that would fix whatever it was he'd done so wrong that they bore such strong hatred for him. Logic told him it wouldn't be so, he knew how they treated Gully and in abstract he knew how families were supposed to be based on books. A little magic wouldn't change that.

Freedom was still an abstract thought. It would take time to form that thought into a dream and then into an idea. From that idea would come a plan that, in the end, would all be foiled anyways by circumstance and tragedy.

Harry's current plan was simple and without any resources or ideas to make it come true.

He needed a wand that much was certain. An owl would be an added bonus, and perhaps more books on learning magic. With a wand he could try proper spells. With an owl he might send a letter to the school which had forgotten him and ask them kindly to reconsider his admission as a student. The latter idea was risky, especially if the Carrows found out. Harry knew he'd have to keep anything he acquired as secretive as the books Gully brought him.

Letting the owl roam about the house would attract as much trouble as Harry's glasses first had. No, Harry considered, an owl would likely attract even more trouble. The owl would have to stay outside, and the wand would have to be well hidden. The books were all tucked away in a secret closet, behind a small door made for house elves. Harry and Gully were the only ones that could fit in it without magic or knocking down the wall.

The Carrows would never lower themselves to occupy the space of an elf – nor lower themselves to enter the door.

They would, however, gladly interrupt Harry's daydreams of how to make a wand out of wood from the forest. Alecto screamed the moment she appeared with a pop into the living room. She screeched his name red in the face until he appeared, furious he wasn't already in the room waiting for her unexpected arrival.

Alecto huffed, looking him over as he went pale with the realization he'd forgotten to take off his glasses during the sprint to skid into place before the Mistress. His hands fidgeted where he'd clasped them behind his back, unsure whether or not to simply snatch the spectacles off his face or not.

Too late, Alecto's hand grabbed him roughly, nails digging into his cheeks as she turned his head from side to side. The witch was muttering to herself, something about charms being strong enough still, too low for Harry to hear. Her jagged, bitten nails left faint scratches across the side of his face when she released him, but Harry barely felt them.

"You aren't to make a sound, not to wander off or go talking to anyone – especially not the Aurors, you hear?" She stooped down, near to eye level with how low and close she got to glare in his face.

Harry didn't know what an Auror was, but he knew better than to ask. His silence in response was not appreciated. Alecto's hand snapped out, stinging the side of his face and knocking off his glasses. They landed with a faint clack, and the familiar sound of cracking glass. Harry blinked at the blurry result around him, ducking his head.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Carrow. I don't understand."

Alecto practically growled, but didn't lash out again – yet. "Some fool made a mess and there are Aurors swarming everywhere. I need to meet with my contacts and you're the only option I've got to keep them off my back. You don't talk to anyone. You don't even look at them, not a sound out of you, got it? You go where we say, do what we say and if someone asks you who you are you tell them you're... you're Alder... Yarrow. I'm your mother. We're shopping for your Hogwarts supplies. Got it?" Harry didn't know why she kept asking that as if what she was saying made sense to him. "That's only if you're asked by someone official looking, you say anything else about us and you'll have hell to pay for it."

That at least Harry understood. Don't cause trouble, don't get noticed. They were the two rules most frequently applied to his life.

"Unless you want to lose an arm you won't think of anything. Shouldn't be hard for you to do," she said and deemed that enough advice to prepare the eleven year old for what was to come. Alecto turned and yelled for Gully, giving Harry time to brush his hands quickly along the floor in search of the dark smudge that was his glasses against the dark wood floor.

He'd no sooner stood with his glasses on, one lens cracked, that Alecto was grabbing his shoulder and doing the step turn to Disapparate.

Harry's world was violently upheaved.

Panic filled him, thinking for sure he must have done something so wrong the Carrow's had decided to torture him. His body shifted, like Alecto's had done, but became so small and twisted Harry couldn't tell what shape he was any longer. It hurt terribly and the distraction of that and the panic alone kept him from thinking of how desperately he wanted to be home at once. Had he the chance to think of home in the seconds it took to Disapparate, he might have caused deathly injury to himself or Alecto – only one of which would be preferable.

Almost as soon as it had begun, the constriction trying to squeeze the life out of his body was gone. He stumbled, feeling very sick to his stomach and nearly falling when Alecto snatched the back of his patchwork shirt and righted him.

They'd appeared in a square, stone room with only a single door in sight. It was dark, a few candles not enough to light the far shadows of the room. Alecto kept her grip on his shirt, pulling him along through the door, stopping only briefly to toss a few coins into the lap of a shriveled looking man sitting in a chair outside the door.

Harry didn't have a chance to see his face, or much of the inside of whatever hall they'd entered as Alecto moved along so quickly his feet were dragging on the floor. With a disgusted sound, Alecto nearly tossed him through the next door into the light ahead of her. She paused, waiting, and when nothing seemed to immediately jump out and devour the boy or come to investigate, she exited.

"Clumsy thing, get up now. Come along boy." Her voice sounded strange to him, to high pitched as she grabbed him up roughly. When the nausea passed enough for him to look up, he saw she was wearing a smile more like a grimace as she dragged him along at her side.

Body well and head clear enough to look around, Harry realized with equal parts excitement and terror that they were no longer at the house. They were, as far as he could tell, so far away from it there was no possibility of seeing it from the dark alleys they now occupied. As fascinating as it was, Harry quickly decided he didn't like wherever it was they were.

The air felt damp, the stone wet and slimy beneath his feet. People passed by them in dark robes and ragged clothes, many of them with their faces covered, heads down or hoods up. Not a one of them dared bother Alecto as she marched confidently through the middle of the path, the few others parting to let her through.

Harry turned his head as they passed each, trying to get a better look at them, at everything around them. There were other paths that diverted and so many doors and windows he didn't know where they could possibly all lead to. They were all shut, their curtains drawn or blinds closed, so he had no way of looking inside.

Then the shops, big glass windows full of so many things – things Harry had never seen before and things he'd only read about. There were colors here, lots of greens and dark reds breaking up the grays and blacks of everything else so far. He focused on the signs, trying to read as many as possible.

They turned down a dark, narrow street that seemed to be completely empty. The shops dwindled in number here and Alecto began to slow. Most shops he could see seemed to be closed. The doors were all shut, and the windows mostly dark or covered. A few even had signs displaying their status outside the door. Harry wondered if this was a usual occurrence or if something had spooked them all so badly they'd all chosen to hide.

From the door of a shop called The Spiny Serpent came one wizard, slinking out the entrance and nearly running away down the alley at the sight of Alecto and Harry. The shop's door had a big black knocker on the door, its window displaying vases that looked taller than Harry. The man certainly hadn't exited with ones of those in his possession had he? Its neighbor, Moribund's, had a faint glow of orange light coming from a small window.

Neither of these shops seemed to be Alecto's destination in mind. Her eyes were set on a shop painted green along the outside and with so many windows packed full you could barely see past the shelves of items on display to the inside. Borgin and Burkes it was called according to the lettering along the top of the windows.

Alecto looked determined to enter until noting that the shop appeared to be occupied already. She cursed under her breath, looking around them quickly for any watchers. "Not a word of this, you hear," She hissed at Harry.

As was her habit, Alecto didn't bother to explain what she was doing. From her pocket came a vial she uncorked whilst walking them backwards into the shadowed awning of the Spiny Serpent. Alecto made a face at the contents of the vial, but downed the whole thing in one go. She gagged, coughing as she put away the vial.

Her face bloated suddenly, as if she were having a violent allergic reaction to the potion inside the vial. The way her cheeks and nose swelled looked painful, eyes scrunching to accommodate the transition as he hair uncoiled from its tight bun. The band holding the hair back could no longer contain the wild brown curls that fell around her shoulders, greasy but miraculously untangled. Like popping a balloon, Alecto's face deflated and the swelling reduced into an almost gaunt state as she stretched out a taller spine and willowy form. Gone was her stocky figure and pinched face, and in their place was a woman Harry had never seen before.

Dark eyes glared down at him correcting any doubt that this was still Alecto. "Waste of a good potion," She growled. "On we go Archer."

"Alder," Harry corrected quietly. The hand on his shoulder dug in until it hurt, but Alecto said nothing in reply. She was too busy focusing on the two men at the counter of the shop as they entered.

"Why Borgin, already busy this early and on such a day?" There was that strange voice again, Harry noted.

The man in question looked startled by the sudden exclamation. He was a stooped man with oily hair in a mess about his face. Thin eyes examined them from either side of a prominent, hooked nose as he quietly tucked away the coins lying out on the counter. The other man was the opposite of Borgin, tall and well-built instead of stooped, and confident instead of squirrely.

He was darkly handsome with fair skin and lustrous black hair falling about his shoulder. Grey eyes swept over the both of them, taking in every detail with a lazy sort of expression that gave a false ease to hide the seriousness of his scrutiny. His hands slipped to his pockets, leaning back against the counter and grinning at the two of them.

"We're just having a quick chat about the comings and goings of the shop this morning. According to Mr. Borgin, you two must be his first customers of the day," said the man. "It's a dreary morning to be out and about."

Alecto took so long in replying that Harry finally looked up to see why she was hesitating. Her face was pale, eyes wide and mouth gawking. The grip she had on his shoulder was getting quite painful and the white knuckled grip was sure to be noticed eventually.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry looked to the man and said, "We're shopping for Hogwarts supplies."

His speaking surprised the man whose face softened slightly, a tension Harry hadn't realized was there fading as Harry became the focus of his attention. "Is that so? Looking to curse your classmates right off the bat are you?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the idea, shaking his head quickly, glad to do so as it covered the wince he gave at Alecto's ever tightening hand. Surely the woman would be breaking her fingers soon holding him so tightly. "No sir, I'd never."

The man nodded, looking suddenly grim, "Oh of course not. You can't go making trouble at Hogwarts or you'll never get a respectable job. Me, I never caused a bit of trouble all my life, and that's the way to do it." He winked and despite his complete confusion Harry began to get the idea there was some kind of joke being told.

Whatever was happening in the conversation, it was doing nothing to but either Alecto or Borgin at ease. Both of them remained on edge as the stranger transferred his focus once more to Alecto.

"As it is my job this morning to ask, may I inquire madam as to who you are and what your business is in Knockturn Alley? Not a lot of school supplies to be found here. I certainly don't remember getting any of mine for first year from Cobb & Webb's or the Coffin House." The change in his demeanor was immediate from Harry to Alecto. From friendly to giving off the same dangerous aura that the Carrows' gave off, like the feeling in the air as a lightning storm rises on the horizon.

Harry didn't trust that, the easy transition from calm to storm was too familiar to him. A seed of despair settled in his chest with the idea that perhaps all people were the same. He stepped back slightly, not wanting to hide behind Alecto but not wanting to be so close to these people all the same. She let go of him at last, shoulders shrugging as she approached the counter.

"Datura Yarrow, and my son Alder. Borgin is an old friend, we were just dropping by to check in on him on our way to Diagon Alley. Contrary to popular belief, the residents of the backstreets are just as civilized as everyone else." Alecto reached a hand across the counter and pat Borgin on the shoulder. The man stooped lower and glared at her but didn't dare protest. "Good to see you're alright this morning even if the Ministry dogs are out hounding you."

Alecto turned sideways, leaning a hip against the counter, leaning close to the other man. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a strange smile.

"Though you're a handsomer breed than most," She told him. Harry frowned, feeling foolish and wondering what book he needed to read to understand this type of behavior. Alecto never acted this way with Amycus, draping herself so close and speaking low and... nicely? Alecto never said anything nice or smiled at anything that wasn't bloody, dead, or soon to be so.

Maybe the potion was changing her insides as well as her outsides. If so, Harry hoped she drank a lot more of them until the effect stuck for good.

The man did not return Alecto's strange behavior, shifting instead to indifference. "Well then, I believe I was done here for the morning. Do you require an escort madam? I'll walk you out. I suggest you close up shop for the day Borgin and let me know if you have any more visitors, hmm?"  
The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically, hands still clutching at the coins he'd swiped off the counter. "Yes, yes, good day Datura. So nice to see you and the boy."

Alecto sputtered, turning a harsh glare on Borgin for a beat before smiling again at the man, her expression tenser than before. "Oh no, I think we'll be fine on our own." The man was undeterred, stepping expectantly towards the door and waiting. "I... We should catch up," She looked to Borgin again who ducked low and shrugged pitifully. "Later... then. Tomorrow perhaps. So much to do after all. No need to walk us, Auror, we know the way."

She ground out the words like they pained her, and they certainly spelled pain for Borgin in the future. Alecto hurried past the man and out the door, Harry having to hurry along to catch up. She grabbed his arm when he reached her, only increasing her pace as they went further into the unknown ahead. Harry looked back over his shoulder, watching the man from the shop Alecto had called Auror.

He exited Borgin and Burkes, standing among the mist of the alley, and seemed to watch them go. Already he was too far away from Harry to tell his expression, though Harry was quickly realizing he wasn't familiar enough with people's expressions to identify them all. His first day out in the world and he'd already met a shopkeeper and an Auror – whatever that was.

Eventually, they turned a corner and the man was gone from sight, but he was far from out of mind. Harry didn't know why, but there was a feeling in him, a sense that he got when his magic worked a spell. It was usually accompanied by a warm sensation, but was now cold, like he'd just lost or missed something that was very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this three times trying to get to the next part and decided to just be happy with what I've got so I can move along. Trying to learn to be okay with just writing first drafts and not being overly concerned with perfection on the first go. Next up - Diagon Alley!


	6. Diagon Alley Pt. 1

Harry had never seen so much color in all his life. Neither had he seen so many people. They emerged from the gray fog of Knockturn Alley into a sunrise of vibrant morning life in Diagon Alley. Everywhere he looked there were new things to see, new colors deep and bright and rich.

The scent of fresh bread, wood, and herbs drifted in the air and to Harry's bewilderment new scents kept appearing as they walked. He couldn't identify half the things assaulting his senses. It was overwhelming, almost frightening. Still, he knew he had to be brave. Somewhere here there had to be a place Harry could find a wand.

Alecto pulled him along quickly past shops full of cauldrons and robes and books. She skirted around parents and their children doing morning shopping rather than stride confidently through them. More people like the wizard from Knockturn were strolling from person to person asking questions or posted keeping careful watch along the street. Aurors, Harry thought, though he still didn't know what they were doing.

"Curse them all," hissed Alecto, stopping in front of another alley where a witch was stumbling out a door followed by laughter and cheering. She gave a whoop and a bow to the people through the door and started a serpentine gait down towards the other exit of the alley. "Stay here. Don't move, don't speak to anyone." Alecto released her grip on him and headed quickly for the door.

Harry counted to ten after the door closed before bolting. His heart pounded in his chest but he didn't have much time, or at least he needed to move like he didn't. Harry glanced in every window he passed, looking desperately for any sign of wands.

Books, robes, cauldrons, brooms, potions, components, how did anyone find need of so many things? There was a whole shop of long metal objects on stands and strange silver instruments. Every book and scroll he passed was grieved as a lost opportunity to learn something new.

His pace became so quick he almost missed it. Harry skidded to a stop after registering the shop he'd passed and quickly backtracked. The shop was narrow and shabby looking. The gold letters which read 'Ollivander's Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' were peeling over the door. Its display had been a solitary wand on a faded purple cushion behind the dusty window, easy to miss and underwhelming to behold. Harry had been expecting something far grander for a shop selling the most important tool for magic, but he was thrilled regardless.

He entered and stared in awe at the sheer amount of narrow boxes crammed onto rows and rows of shelves all the way up to the ceiling. There had to be thousands, more than any one wizard could ever need. Harry wondered at how many wizards and witches must exist to need so many wands. That gave him a moment of greater hope he might be able to acquire one. There was a single, spindly chair among the shelves, no sign of where he might find the shopkeeper. A bell had rung upon his entrance, but no one came to answer.

Harry crept slowly along the shelves, brushing his fingers across the boxes. The back of his neck prickled as he sensed the magic which seemed to inhabit every aspect of the store. Every box emitted a faint sense of magic, a few stronger than others, and each different in varying ways and amounts. Some felt hot, others cold, one shocked his hand when he touched the box. For some reason is didn't feel right to open any. His feet kept moving, taking him deeper into the store, rounding shelves as he felt out the magic around him.

How did anyone ever pick one? What if you liked one, but it didn't like you? Harry got the sense the wands had minds of their own, or their magic did. Each told him something different; mostly no's, a few maybes, some completely disinterested, and others merely curious.

Maybe it was a test, he thought. You came in and found the wand that spoke to you on your own. There was so much magic around him and the longer he focused the more a beacon appeared to draw him closer. The box was black where the gray layers of dust had been streaked across its surface from someone grabbing it recently. It was just out of reach even when Harry stood on tiptoe and stretched as far as he could. He squinted up at the box and focused, jerking his head slightly.

The box shot forward at the summoning, over his hand to collide with the shelf behind him. The other boxes rattled as the black box dropped to the ground. Harry stayed completely still, an instinct as he waited for one of the Carrows to come yelling. A minute ticked by before he relaxed and hurried to pick up the box. The lid was slightly askew, revealing the pale wood wand inside.

Harry carefully took the wand from the box and felt sudden warmth greet his fingers. He gave it an experimental wave and felt the pull and surge of magic. A stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end, little explosions of light and color filling the dim row of boxes until they faded away towards the floor. Harry had a good feeling that if this was a test, he'd passed it.

"Curious... very curious..."

The sudden soft voice from the end of the aisle made Harry jump. The wand dropped from his hand in surprise, falling perfectly back into the box.

"I'm sorry!" He blurted out as a pair of pale moon like eyes examined him.

The man was old, grey hair a fluffy puff around his head. He had a very wrinkled face and clothes covered in dust or perhaps sawdust since a few wood shavings were stuck to his old robes. He didn't seem angry, more fascinated, but it still made Harry nervous.

"The wand chooses the wizard," He began in a whisper as if it were a great secret. "And this one has chosen you." He stepped closer, one small step at a time, and scooped up the box to verify its contents. "Curious... I tried this wand on another boy just last week and it thoroughly rejected him. Him of all people..." Those silver eyes went back to examining him, the man leaning in so close Harry had to step back. "Who are you that this wand choose you?"

"I... I'm Alder... Alder Yarrow," stammered Harry.

The man looked almost amused. "Well, Master Yarrow, you have chosen a wand of unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple. A rare wood, holly, it's protective, good for those who need help overcoming a temper or completing a dangerous mission. Perhaps a spiritual quest. Are you on a spiritual quest, little Yarrow?"

Harry quickly shook his head in denial. "I was just looking for a wand, sir."

"Ollivander is the name." He corrected at the last. "And you just so happened to find this wand among all the others?"

"It... it called to me." Harry felt right shamed and ridiculous for having broken some unknown rule of wands. Still, he felt almost sick at the idea he wouldn't have that wand.

Ollivander reeled back, clutching the box to his chest for a moment. "Called to you... curious indeed. Tell me little Yarrow, do you have any known relation to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Harry stared blankly at the question. He didn't get the joke if one was being said. "No? I don't know who that is."

Ollivander relaxed only slightly, looking between the wand box and Harry. The wariness was fading back into fascination. "Protection, yes... the perfect twins. I really shouldn't. Someone should be told and yet..." His eyes focused solely on Harry. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. Every single wand. Never forgotten a single one. This wand contains the tail feather of a phoenix who gave only two feathers. It is very curious that you should be fated to have this wand when its brother... well, its brother did great things – terrible... yes, very terrible, but great."

"I'm sorry. I don't really understand. How can something be terrible and great?"

The wand maker blinked slowly at him, like the owls Harry had passed on the way to the shop. "A wand such as this will be capable of great power. No matter the use, it will be great, knowing its brother. That you would come along – a stranger, an unknown... Will you do great things? Terrible things?" He gripped the box tighter in his hands and turned for the front of the store. "Does it matter?"

Harry hurried after him, eyes on the wand box being carried so far away from him. "I don't want it for terrible things!"

Ollivander froze, Harry nearly running into him. "No? Then what does the little Yarrow want to do with the wand?"

"I," he wanted to learn magic, but that didn't seem like the right answer. "I want to go good things. I want freedom."

Ah, and that impossibly seemed to be the right answer. Ollivander looked far off in his own mind for a moment. "Good. Very good. Either way, it will be fascinating to see. Seven galleons then."

He spun around on heel, a hand extended to Harry. "Seven what?"

"No galleons? A muggle-born then."

"A what?"

Ollivander looked around suddenly, as if he'd just realized Harry was alone. "Where are you parents?"

That was a very good question, Harry thought. He ducked his head, terrified now that he'd been caught and soon Alecto would be summoned to punish him. "They... don't want me to have a wand."

"Ah... I see." His voice was so soft Harry looked up in surprise to see the man looking down at him with great pity. "Those kind, hmm? Rarer these days, but still there. Such prejudices never go away. Well then..."

He took the wand from the box and scavenged through the shelves to pull out a long pocket of dark leather. Ollivander slipped the wand inside and handed it carefully back to Harry.

"Best to keep this carefully hidden then. You wouldn't want them to find it lest they break it. You two are meant for great things." He nodded to himself as Harry took the wand. "Great things... You should go now, before you are missed and – if you are ever nearby again – you must come see me."

"Why," asked Harry as he was herded towards the door.

"Wands begin smooth, many shaped alike. Overtime, in the possession of a witch or wizard, they begin to change. They match." Harry stepped onto into the sunny Diagon Alley. Ollivander watched him carefully until Harry tucked the wand up his sleeve. "I'm curious to see what becomes of yours."

With that he shut the door and Harry was alone once more. With a wand. A wide smile came across his face that didn't fade even as he backtracked towards the alley Alecto had left him at. The street was much the same as he'd left it, people going about their day and Aurors still on watch. That hadn't taken long at all, and Harry was relieved to quickly begin backtracking.

"Boy! Where are you parents?" One of the watching wizards called out, turning from questioning a nervous witch to watch his hurried path. Harry yelped and froze for a heartbeat too long as the Auror approached. "I asked where your parents are, boy."

"I was just running an errand," replied Harry. "We're shopping for school supplies. I was on my way back."

The Auror stared down at him blankly. "Well, it's not safe to be running around alone. Where are they? I'll walk you."

"Oh! No, that's okay, they're just..." He did a single sweep of the nearest stores and picked one quickly. "At the owl emporium."

"Short walk then, let's go." He pointed to the store without sign of letting the issue go.

Harry spared a glance to the alley Alecto had disappeared down, seeing no sign of the witch from where he was. Unless she'd already come and gone, he wasn't in trouble yet. The Auror put a hand to his shoulder and started guiding him along towards the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 to follow but I wanted to post something rather than nothing for now


End file.
